Shattered
by Magical Mister Mistoffeles
Summary: AU. Draco is tired of fighting, and tired of life. The abuse he's endured has taken its toll on him, and now his mind and soul are nearly shattered. Will anyone be there to help him?
1. Chapter 1

**Shattered**

Chapter I: The Train, part I 

_By: Magical Mister Mistoffeles_

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter.

**Story Summary: **(AU due to release of the Half Blood Prince.) Draco Malfoy is tired of fighting, and tired of life. The abuse he has endured during his sixteen years has taken its toll on him, and his soul and his mind are nearly shattered. Will there be anyone to help him out of the darkness of his own mind and recover from the abuse?

**Rating: **T/PG-13

**Genres: **Angst/Drama/(Possible) Romance

**Warning(s): **Abuse, insanity, substance abuse, self-inflicted wounds, possible slash later in the story (it depends on what you guys say), anorexia, mentions of rape

**Author's Note: **This story will have Harry and Draco as the main characters, but it won't be slash unless I get a majority vote for slash. (This counts all reviewers who e-mail me directly, since they are not reading this on Plus, Lucius was never sent to Azkaban, even though he was caught at the Ministry.

_SHATTERED..shattered..SHATTERED..shattered..SHATTERED..shattered.._

The first thing I noticed when I woke was the lack of a window to look out of. Instantly I felt as if I were in a cage, and I jumped from bed and threw open the curtains. Light streamed into the room, and I felt my breathing ease.

Gradually I calmed until I realized where I was. My room, in one of the family homes near the train station where the Hogwarts Express picks up all of the students. I felt angry now, as I realized why I felt caged in. My father, Lucius Malfoy. He was a harsh, cruel man, who didn't mind torturing someone for even the slightest mistake. I was convinced that he didn't have a heart.

Quickly and quietly, I changed out of my pajamas and into the clothes I would wear on the train. They were plain, and black. That seemed to have become my preferred color over the summer holiday.

I stood beside my door and listened, trying to see if my father was in at the time, or if he had gone back to Malfoy Manor after last night. I hoped he had. I didn't like my father at all, and I always felt fearful and uncomfortable when he was around. Especially when he fought with my mother.

Thankfully, I found no one in the house. Only a note from my mother proved that she had been there at all. I read it quickly:

_Draco,_

_Sorry I'm not there, but I'll be able to take you to the station later today._

_Love,_

_Narcissa_

I put the note back down on the table where I found it, and didn't even bother to wonder where she'd gone. After all, it wasn't as if it were any of my business. Although she wasn't as bad as Lucius, her bipolar moods got to me.

With a sigh I decided to pack. I turned and started up the stairs before an elf's voice stopped me.

"Master should eat something." I recognized the speaker instantly. It was a rather bold elf named Twinkle, who was a friend of the house elf Dobby.

"I'll have something before I leave. Around nine," I answered, and Twinkle gave a happy squeal before trotting back to the kitchen.

The house was silent as I packed my clothes, books, parchment and other things I would need at Hogwarts into my trunk. At last I came to the blank, black leather journal that one of my cousins had given me. With a shrug I threw it into my trunk as well. Who knows, I thought, it could be useful later on.

I had finished eating and was waiting by the time Mother arrived. Luckily, she was in a sane state at the moment, and didn't try to touch me. We had a brief conversation in which she made me promise to write her since she got lonely by herself during the school year. I said what I did every year, and promised without meaning it.

When we got to the station, I was more than happy to jump out of the Muggle car (with magic enhancements on the inside) we owned, and speed towards platform 9¾. It seemed that I was the first one there.

As I was nearing the barrier, a familiar voice stopped me. I turned my head to look and see who was speaking. I didn't need to, though, since I already knew who was speaking.

"Bugger off!" Oh, wonderful. Now I was stuck with the "Golden Boy"! But as I watched him with his aunt, uncle and extremely large cousin, I felt a twinge of guilt and also a bit of sympathy.

"Don't you be disrespectful with me, boy!" His fat uncle roared at him. When he was sure no one was watching (apparently he couldn't see me), he hit him across the face. Potter flinched, and I resisted the urge to touch my own cheek where my father did the same thing.

"Off with you. Now!" His extremely slim (in contrast with his cousin and his uncle) aunt said with disdain.

"Gladly," He muttered, but I still heard him somehow. He looked up as he loaded his trunk and his owl's cage onto a trolley, and his face met my own. His expression changed from sad to furious, and I realized it at that moment; it was a mask he wore. He didn't feel brave. He didn't want to play the hero. But that was the role life had given him, so he covered up his own pain to ease that of others around him. I found myself wishing I could be as noble as he was.

"What are you looking at, Malfoy?" Potter yelled at me. "Are you going to make fun of poor, abused St. Potter now? Well? Get on with it!"

"No," I said softly. "I'm not." He blinked several times, surprised.

"What?" Then he seemed to realize who he was talking to and regained his composure. "So, you've finally grown a brain and realized how infantile this feud of ours is, and decided to stop it? How grown up."

"Not at all," I said calmly, wondering all the while what had gotten into me, "I've grown a brain and realized that we're not so different." Then I wheeled my trolley through the barrier, leaving the black-haired boy behind me. I didn't want to wait for his answer.

I sat with Pansy and Blaise as usual, but something felt as if it were missing. I wondered what it was, and then I remembered. My two friends knew nothing about my home life, or the way my parents treated me. I couldn't talk to them.

Halfway through the ride there, Pansy leaned over me to open the window. She ended up hitting my arm, and both she and Blaise noticed me flinch as she did so.

"Are you okay, Draco?" Blaise asked.

"I'm fine," I lied, hoping they wouldn't inquire further.

"Are you sure?" Pansy asked.

"Of course I'm not okay! I was put through hell for fifteen and a half years, of course I'm not okay!" That was what I wanted to say to them. Instead, I settled for, "Yes. I'm fine, okay?"

I gave them the patented, "I do not wish to continue this conversation topic any longer, and anyone who attempts to make me talk about will be hexed" look, and they changed the subject to Quidditch. That, at least, was safe ground.

Eventually, Pansy wandered off to find some first years to terrorize, and Blaise and I sat in silence. I stared out the window, my thoughts drifting back to what I had seen at the station.

"You're different now, Draco," Blaise said. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye.

"What do you mean by that, Blaise?" I asked him calmly.

"I don't know… you're more… distant," He told me. "You're not talking near as much, and it seems like you're hiding something from us. Why are you pushing us away?"

"You wouldn't—" I stopped short as our compartment door slid open, revealing Potter and Weasley. Blaise stood.

"I'll be leaving now." Blaise nodded to them, and I silently thanked him for going with the no-fighting decision we'd made at the end of last year. All of us had bigger things to worry about than our qualms with the Gryffindors. We no longer provoked them, and only responded to physical fights or family insults.

"What do you want?" I asked, sounding slightly tired. Weasley didn't seem to notice, although I'm sure Potter did.

"I hear you're backing down, Malfoy," Weasley said. "Is that true? You're not going to mess with any of the Gryffindors anymore?" I could tell he didn't like this. Now any fights with us he would have to start himself and he knew it.

"Yes," I answered. Weasley looked as if he were about to insult me, but then he just turned bright red and stomped off.

"Now what do _you_ want?" I asked Potter as he slipped into my compartment, shut and locked the door and pulled down the blinds on the window. I opened them back up and he looked at me in annoyance.

I swallowed thickly before explaining, "I'm rather claustrophobic." He nodded.

"Now," He said, "what the hell were you on about at the station, Malfoy?"

I just shook my head. "Look, forget I said anything."

"Oh no I won't!" Potter practically yelled. "I mean, I want to know what you meant." I just shrugged.

"I was just pointing out that we've got some things in common," I answered.

"Like what?" He asked disbelievingly.

"Quidditch."

"That's not what you were talking about and we both know it." There was silence for a moment before he added a bit more quietly, "I saw you watching me and the Dursleys." For some reason I felt my anger flare up.

"Fine," I said. "I meant that we both have screwed up families who hate us. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I didn't want to hear it," Potter said quietly, "but I've suspected it for a long time." I stared at him.

"Dobby, your old house elf, talks to me about you when I visit him in the kitchens," He told me, still speaking softly. "I've always wondered what he meant by 'mean master who tortures.' And it seems I've found my answer."

I was silent for a moment before I turned to stare out the window so he wouldn't see the tears forming in my eyes as I answered. "If this is just sick curiosity, then get out, Potter."

"It's not." He answered. "I want to help you." I laughed at that.

"Help me? How in the name of Merlin would _you_ help _me_?" I asked skeptically. He looked sad.

"I know how it feels," Potter said. "I know how it feels to be hurt when all you want—all you _need_—is love. I know how it feels to get smacked around all the time, and wonder when it's going to happen again. I know how you feel, Malfoy."

"Get out." I whispered. I wasn't ready for this sudden onslaught of compassion from the Gryffindor who had despised me since we were mere eleven-year-olds.

He stood. "Remember that you can talk to me. I'm a noble Gryffindor, right? I won't say a word to anyone."

With that, he left, closing the compartment door behind him and leaving me alone with my confused thoughts.


	2. Home Sweet Home

**Shattered**

Chapter II: Home Sweet Home

_By: Magical Mister Mistoffeles_

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter.

Thank you to my reviewers! I'm sorry I haven't updated before this, but my computer internet kept going out. Glares at computer

_SHATTERED..shattered..SHATTERED..shattered..SHATTERED..shattered.._

I wasn't quite sure why I said what I did to Malfoy, but I did mean it. I wanted to help him. I had a feeling that he's been through worse than I had. After all, I didn't flinch when someone touched me, and I wasn't claustrophobic.

I went back to the compartment I was sharing with Ron and Hermione, and found myself alone. It was a few seconds before I realized that they were in the Prefects compartment. Good, I decided. I needed some time alone to think.

He'd told me to go away. It wasn't in the demanding, cold voice that he would have said it only a few months ago. His voice… that was what affected me most before I left. When he'd told me to leave… he'd sounded confused, and defeated. There was also a touch of pleading and despair in that voice.

That two-minute conversation I had with him changed my views considerably. I could no longer even pretend to hate him. At the end of last year, I realized that it wasn't his fault—the way he acted and thought about everything. It was the way he'd been brought up. That was all he knew how to do, I guess. Be hateful and negative.

But, for the sake of Ron's sanity (and perhaps my own), I needed to hate him. I needed to have at least the constant hate of Malfoy in my life, otherwise I would go insane. As I sat there in the compartment alone, staring blankly out the window as Malfoy had, I thought I already was insane. Why else would I be feeling this determination to help Malfoy—a Slytherin, the child of a Death Eater, my rival.

He wasn't all of that anymore, I realized. Sure, he was a Slytherin and the son of a Death Eater, but he wasn't my rival. He had given up. Truthfully, it scared me. It scared me that the Malfoy who had been determined to beat me at least once was gone, replaced by this stranger who had given up on life. It truly scared me. In a different way than the thought of having to kill Voldemort scared me, but it was scary all the same. It was like waking up and finding that the sky turned yellow. A constant thing in your life suddenly changing.

I decided then and there that I would do everything I could to help him, but I wouldn't tell Ron or Hermione about it.

The first step? Make him feel comfortable around me. Well, I doubted I could do that, but at the very least I could make him realize that I wasn't going to use any of this against him, and I wasn't going to hurt him. The way he flinched whenever anyone touched him was slightly disturbing—even I didn't have that problem. It always made me wonder what had been done to him to make him react to _everyone_ like that. Every time I thought about it, and tried to imagine what had happened to him, I felt furious.

I had calmed considerably when Ron and Hermione came back.

"The ferret didn't come by here while we were gone, did he? It wouldn't surprise me if he came by even though he said he wouldn't mess with us anymore," Ron said. I sighed, and decided that there was no way I would talk to Ron about it. He might have been my best friend, but he was also a stubborn prick a lot of the time.

"No," I answered honestly, "Malfoy hasn't come by here."

"He wasn't in the Prefects' carriage," Hermione said. "Maybe he's not on the train." I shrugged, and Ron began talking about Quidditch. I focused on that, happy to find something that could distract me from my plans to help Malfoy. Hermione—as usual—was reading a thick book.

The train ride seemed to take a lifetime, but finally, Hermione was leaving the compartment so we could change into our robes.

I didn't pay attention to the conversation inside of the thestral-drawn carriages. I just nodded when everyone else did, and smiled occasionally, and everyone left me alone with my thoughts. Only Hermione and Ginny seemed to realize that something had me preoccupied.

Finally we were inside of the Great Hall, and I didn't have to pretend to pay attention to the conversations of my friends anymore. I listened attentively to the Sorting Hat's song, but I completely missed Professor Dumbledore's speech. Of course, it didn't matter. It was the same "the forest is forbidden, no fighting in the corridors" speech of the last five years.

It pleased me to see that Remus Lupin would be returning as our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor this year. It seemed that Dumbledore wasn't going to concern himself with the opinions of parents any longer. I heard Hermione say that he just didn't care what they thought, and he was going to try and give us the best education he could to prepare us for the upcoming war.

I found myself watching Malfoy during the feast. He didn't talk much, and there was a few inches of space between him and the people next to him (Blaise Zabini on his left, Theodore Nott on his right). He didn't eat much, either. He kept his eyes on his hands or the table for the most part, not looking at his friends.

"Harry?" I turned to Hermione. "The feast's over." I stood up and followed her out of the hall.

"Come with me," She whispered, and pulled me aside, into the kitchens. "What's wrong, Harry? You've been acting oddly ever since Ronald and I got back from the Prefects' compartment. You aren't still upset that he got it and you didn't, are you? I thought we settled that last year!" I shook my head.

"No, it's not that," I assured her. "It's just… I found out some stuff today. You know I don't hate Malfoy—I told you that last year. Now I'm going to try and help him. Would you do me a favour, and keep this from Ron?"

She nodded. "I don't understand why Malfoy would need help, or why you're trying to give it to him, but you'll explain it when you're ready." I smiled at her, and hugged her.

"Thanks, 'Mione," I told her. "You're a great friend."

"You're quite welcome," she answered. "Now get your buttocks up to bed, Mr. Potter!" I laughed. It was funny, although slightly disturbing. Her imitation of Professor McGonagall was so realistic it was disturbing.

With a groan, I started back up the stairs to the Gryffindor dormitories, Hermione next to me. I entered it, and bid goodnight to Hermione. I stumbled up the staircase to the sixth year dormitory, and smiled. It was exactly the same. Neville snoring softly, Dean and Seamus spread all over their beds, and Ron murmuring quietly in his sleep.

"Home sweet home," I muttered, and collapsed onto my bed. I didn't even think to change out of my robes before I slept.


End file.
